


Mine

by srmarybadass



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: Biting, M/M, general roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmarybadass/pseuds/srmarybadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murdock is very possessive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

Face is a flirt. Everyone knows this.

 

It's practically in his job description. Heck, it's practically his _job._ He can charm the pants off anyone – guy, girl, straight, gay – in under five minutes, and leave nothing but a used condom and a sexuality crisis behind. The team knows this. The team understands this. His flirting is an asset, just like their guns and fake passports. For missions only.

 

Murdock understands this. Face, apparently, doesn't.

 

Because right now, they're in a smoky little club, where the music is loud and the people are loose, and Face is dancing like a fool in the middle of a pack of people. And Murdock's jaw is hardening, and his hands are clutching his beer bottle tighter. 

 

“Easy there,” Hannibal says, trying to soothe his team. It doesn't work. He's keeping an eye on BA, and Murdock's keeping both his eyes on Face. BA is fine. Face, apparently, isn't. But to his credit, Murdock keeps his cool. Just barely, but he hangs on – until a tipsy blonde floozy dares to whisper something in Face's ear, trail her hand down his chest, and lower. Murdock's eyes narrow and Hannibal knows that there's nothing he can do now, and hopes that they don't get kicked out of another club.

 

Murdock, southern gentleman that he is, doesn't immeditately barge into the group of dancing folks. No, he waits and bides his time, until Face leaves to get a drink. As he walks toward the back, Murdock reaches out of the shadows and grabs him by the scruff of the neck.

 

“Jesus! What the-” Face struggles for a minute before recognizing his captor. “Murdock? What's up, man?”

 

He's tipsy. Of course. But not so drunk that he can't process the meaning of the raging glow in Murdock's eyes.

 

The pilot drags him out to the alley behind the club – dark, dank, disgusting. Perfect for messing up pretty boys like Face. Without wasting a minute, Murdock shoves Face against the wall, holding his arms down, letting the bricks scrape against his skin. He presses close, and for a minute Face is almost scared, because Murdock's joking and humor makes people forget that he's a physically intimidating person. Strong. Fast. Crazy like a fox and deadly like a panther.

 

He's not laughing now.

 

He's kissing Face, hard, rough – nothing like his normally gentle, almost romantic self. No, there's lips and teeth and tongue, and Murdock won't let up, and he's overwhelming Face.

 

Finally, he pulls back and Face gasps for breath.

 

“You're mine,” Murdock finally says, snarling. The southern accent doesn't sound so innocent and charming anymore. It's dangerous, seductive, sultry. “ _Mine_. Nobody else's.” 

 

It never ceases to amaze Face that this complete and total _lunatic_ who's noticeably older than he is gets him so much hotter than scantily clad coeds throwing themselves at him. 

 

“Mine,” Murdock whispered, punctuating it with another kiss, and another. His fingers dig into Face's arm – Murdock has strong hands. Good for piloting choppers, and shooting guns, and doing all manner of wickedly pleasurable things to Face.

 

“Did she whisper into your ear?” Murdock murmurs. “Like this? I saw her. I saw her touching you, like she _owned_ you.” He punctuates that with a nip to the earlobe. Face gasps at the sensation. “Did she want to take you home with her? Or did she just want to take you out back? Right here, and have you in this dirty alley?”

 

Face can't get his brain to formulate words, other than a litany of _more more more_ and _Murdock Murdock Murdock_.

 

“You're _mine,_ Face,” Murdock tells him again, voice heady with authority. “And now everyone is going to know it.”

 

Face cries out, a choked sound, when Murdock's teeth make contact with the side of his neck. The pain bolts through him, followed immediately by pleasure, and the quick sooth of a gentle kiss before Murdock attackes the sensitive skin of his neck again. In the back of his mind, Face realizes that he's not going to leave just bruises, he's going to leave _bite marks_ , and maybe even tear the skin a little, and he can't wear scarves and turtlenecks, not in this weather. Everyone is going to see. Everyone is going to _know_. And with that thought, and Murdock grinding heavy against him, he comes in his pants like a desperate, horny teenager.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps, and Murdock lets up. _“Murdock._ ”

 

“You're _mine_ , Face,” Murdock growls once more, but there's a hint of a smile somewhere in there. “Mine.”

 

“Yours, Murdock. I'm all yours.”


End file.
